


The Enemy of Crime is...

by NihilismPastry



Series: Ko-Fi Campaign Collection [4]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mobfell (Undertale), Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fake Date to Real Date, Lawyer! Reader, Mafia Sans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 09:19:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17784710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NihilismPastry/pseuds/NihilismPastry
Summary: You hated Sans. He was a sleazy mobster that needed to go down... Right?





	The Enemy of Crime is...

**Author's Note:**

> Gore Level: N/A

Sans sneered as the little princess shoved past him with her hips. Her sneer was practically chiseled into her face, and he swore that it would stay that way one of these days if she wasn’t careful. He’d seen her a thousand times in the last six months, and it was nothing but sneering and bitter frowns that would make a lazy headmaster tell her to relax and get a drink.

His red eye lights followed her descent down the stone stairs, and into the eager arms of the journalists who stopped her from making her way to her car. Camera flashes, waving hands, bits of paper clinging to odd places, and jittery fingers stained with dark colored ink. They looked more like rabid dogs than curious humans that wanted to get the latest story. Acted liked it too with their loud voices overtaking the cars and construction going on, and their waving arms and hands that threatened to smack anyone close to them.

“Ma’am! What do you have to say about this trial!” 

“Ma’am! Ma’am!  Do you think the Graves gang will really go down!” 

“Ma’am! Will you be stopping their charity ball to throw them in prison!” 

“Ma’am1 Please look this way!” 

Questions, questions, questions. None of them relevant, and all of them ridiculous. Every single one of those journalists were acting as if his family had already lost the case, and that the stupid lawyer was about to tie them up and throw them right into the old jailhouse herself. Looked like they all believed in the ‘system’ and ‘justice’ until it was time to sell one hell of a story. 

Typical for those media hounds. 

The human answered them all with grace and poise. Of course she did. It wasn’t like she was able to answer any other way without being thrown to the dogs. Everyone had a set image, and hers was settled for her long before she was even something her momma forgot to swallow. 

Sans jolted out of his thoughts as the human walked past him with that sway in her hips, and her lips pulled back into a sneer. “What are you doing here? I thought you were letting your older brother stand for trial?”

“was dropping him off a sandwich.” He leaned against the cold stone of the ancient court banister. “ ‘nd what are you doing, huh? hoping to make us look like bastards to the press? cute. real cute.”

“I am just giving them details so the civilians will feel safe at night,” she said. “Nothing more and nothing less.”

“course ya are.” 

“Ma’am!” Their conversation fell silent as a redheaded human hurried down the stairs with arms full of paperwork. “We need to go back to the office right away. Mr. Marino has a meeting he wants to get started in half an hour.” 

“Have Thomas bring the car around, Fern. I’ll be there in a moment.” 

The girl gave a sharp nod and hurried across the street, and the lawyer turned her attention back to Sans. She appraised him with that usual condescending look that made him want to drown her, or slam her against a wall and fuck her brains out. “Well, I’ll be seeing you soon. Take care, Sans.” 

“yeah, yeah, yeah. watch your back.” 

She turned to look back at him and smirked. “I always do.”

* * *

 

The newspapers came in, and there was plenty of fanfare. People in every speakeasy were chattering, diner waitresses whispered as they stuck a cig between their lips, and the rich folks of the city put on all their airs in the world as they read the news in that giant block print.

Sans burned the paper with magic, and the ashes flew off on a gust of smokey wind. “fuckin’ bitch.” 

A woman with curly hair and a sweet smile glanced over to him from across the wide law firm steps. “Mr. Graves, was it? Is it true that you’re not going to continue with the charity ball? How horrific. I knew you and your family were gangsters and Monsters, but I didn’t think that you were the very definition of it.” 

The man next to the woman paled a bit, but he didn’t try to stop the woman either. Afterall, the news was that despicable. The Graves family had a long standing tradition of looking out for the little guy. This meant the smaller businesses, a few of the tinier gangs that just wanted to protect their families, and any minority that anyone could possibly think of. With the charity ball being cut off, an event set up to build a hospital on the ‘bad’ side of town, it made their image look like complete and utter shit. 

Then again, the woman who had canceled it also looked like the ultimate out of touch bitch. Who denied the poor an easy to access hospital? He smirked and fell back into a portal, and reappeared in the middle of an abandoned looking bar. He sat at the old wooden counter, and watched a violet fire elemental wash out one of the frosted tumblers. “What do you want, Sans?” 

“has a certain lawyer lady come around, recently?” 

“Why? Want in her skirt?” 

“you should lay off the booze, grillby. ya ain't thinking clearly these days.” He pulled a cigar out from his coat pocket, and clipped off the end with a bit of gold magic. “let’s call me fatally curious.”

Grillby rolled his sparks, and set the tumbler back among all the others on the glass shelf behind him with some purple tinted magic. “She was by thirty minutes ago. Wanted to know if you or your brothers came by for a drink.”

“huh. what’d the bitch want?” 

Grillby held out a hand, and stared at Sans with a rather blank expression. His sockets narrowed, and he pulled out a thick wad of cash and set it in Grillby’s fiery palm. “that’ll do it?” 

“Not even close,” Grillby deadpanned. “Still owe me half a country right now.” 

“yeah. yeah.” Sans waved him off. “tell me why the lawyer was hanging around like a rat.” 

Grillby pulled something small out of the pocket of his grey slacks, and handed it to Sans before he leaned against one of the lower wooden shelves and crossed his arms. “Said she wanted to talk to you and your family about the state of the charity ball.”

Sans glanced at the numbers on the paper, before looking up at Grillby with a raised browbone. “why? she was the one to cancel it.” 

“Probably made her law firm look like shit too,” he said. “You know those high and mighty types gotta look good too. Think about it: She’s the first female lawyer in this city, and she’s cutting off access to a hospital for the poor folk. They could claim a man could do a better job, or a woman should be more empathetic and warm. Ya know, that human bullshit that gets flung around.” 

Sans snapped his fingers, and a thick plume of red fire danced on his thumb. “that so? heh, looks like the lil bitch tried to hard and set fire to the bride she was standin’ on.” 

“This could be the perfect opportunity to kill her,” Grillby said. “So overcome by shame and grief, the lil lawyer shot herself right through her pretty lil head.” 

“she didn’t even cry when her mother’s funeral happened, what makes you think this would put her down.” He shook his head. “no, we’re just gonna make this a little bit harder on the bitch. you still got a hand on lenny and the girls? want you to have them go around crying and making a fuss. want the entire third street cursing her name by the end of the week.” 

Grillby snorted and a thick lavender smoke escaped from between his jagged mouth. “And what do I get for doing your dirty work?” 

“we’ll give you exclusive access to marino’s girls.” 

“The entire block?” 

“entire block.” 

The men shook hands, and red magic slipped between the two of them, and were bound in a burnt gold. When it faded away there was nothing but a copper mist that slowly slipped into the rafters high above their heads. “Alright, consider it done.” 

“good.” He set fire to his cigar and red tinted smoke curled out of his sockets. “let’s do us a smear campaign.”

* * *

The coffee tasted like ash, and your veins were full of ice water as you stared at the newspaper sitting on your cluttered desk. The picture of you was the most prominent, but the large words hanging over your picture were like a noose ready to yank you from this mortal world, and into the gentle arms of death's eternal slumber. 

Dramatic and over exaggerating. 

That was the press for you. 

“Ma’am, what steps should we take to make amends with the public?” Your secretary asked. “We should think of things before Mr. Marino comes in and causes a scene.” 

You sighed and leaned back in your chair, your gaze settled on the low ceiling. You could already imagine your boss’s face as he kicked and screamed about the law firm’s image, and how it was now ruined thanks to your brash decisions, and that stupidity happened to follow you wherever you went. Something about a plague would also be spun in, and you were sure he would demand a cut in your pay for such a disgrace...

With a soft inhale you sat up and looked back to your trembling secretary. “We’re going to have to call Amelia and have her do another story for the National Times. We will also need to have a press conference with St. Michael's and several other charity foundations. I want this all fixed before noon today." 

“What about your meeting with Mr. Marino?” 

“Toss it out, and I will see him tomorrow as soon as I come to work.” You frowned, and mulled over the plans once more. “Well, there's still..." You abruptly stood up, and the newspaper fell off the desk and onto the wooden floor. "I will be leaving now, Fern .Will you tell Marino I will see him in the morning?” 

The young woman gave a shaky nod. “Yes, ma’am. But… What should I tell him?” 

“Tell him I am about to earn him the public’s admiration.”    


You gathered up your coat and shoved it on. Once you were sure every button was perfect, you grabbed your purse, and hurried out the door and down the stairs. The chill of the late winter air seeped through the coat, and the scent of gasoline and the sour paper factory over on 11th street coat your tongue. You waved your hand, and eventually, a taxi stopped and you slipped inside. You directed the old man to a building on Cross Street, and thanked him profusely once you arrived. He sped off down the crowded streets, leaving you to stare at the old art gallery. It was a stone affair that was mostly ignored by the populace despite the brilliant paintings you could see through the large windows. You swallowed your bile, and perhaps your pride, as you entered the quiet shop. 

A young flame elemental was leaning against a marble statue and reading a fashion magazine. Her yellow sparks turned to look at you when you entered. “Good afternoon! How may I help you?"

“Cut the line, Fuku. I need to see the owner of this establishment.” 

The girl’s sparks popped and fizzled in her face. “Do you now? Well, Mr. Grillby doesn’t have to see the likes of you.” 

“Your uncle doesn’t own this place and everyone in the area knows it.” You dipped a hand in your coat, and pulled out a crumpled bit of newspaper that had Gaster Graves’s face plastered on it. “I need to speak to this man as soon as possible.” 

“Ha! Gaster? There’s no way you can see him. Not even his own brothers do. What makes you think his biggest enemy would?” 

Your eyebrows furrowed at her words. Technically she was absolutely right. There was no way a woman like you could talk to Gaster. The only person that ever had access to his time and attention was his partner, and you were very sure that posing as such would get you wrath from hell if you lied to his receptionist. 

You squared your shoulders. “Then I would like to speak to Sans.” 

“Don’t you hate that man?”

“Yes, but tell him that I need him as soon as possible," You said. "I would like to have him come to my office and discuss a small arrangement with me. A date, as it were.” 

Fuku’s sparks narrowed as she watched you pull out a pen and mark your office number on a sheet of stationary. “Yeah? And what are you gonna do? Gun him down and call it a guilty suicide?” 

“No. That would be messy.” You held out the bit of paper. “Just tell him to come at 6PM sharp. I’ll be waiting.”

* * *

Sans burned the fancy bit of paper in his hand when he finally found the number on the paper. It was a squat building with broken windows, paint splashed on the rotting door, and a few posters here and there for various events and political swaying.

Sans crumbled the bit of paper, and pushed open the door as he entered the abandoned shop. Glass littered the floor, rats scurried into the walls, and he could hear a cat having kitten under the rotting floorboards. “fancy office.”

“Thank you.” 

His head twisted around, and he found himself staring at the bitch trying to upturn his business. “heard ya soul’s made of glass.”

“I’m not here to yell and scream at you,” she said. “I am here to ask you on a date.”

He raised a brow bone. “why in the fuck would i let the likes of  _ you _ anywhere near  _ me _ .” 

“You look just as bad, Sans,” she said. “You look like you want to save money for court costs. Wouldn’t it be better if we joined forces, this once, and actually let the fancy party go on?” 

“so a fake date, huh?” 

She nodded.”Precisely. When the clock strikes twelve you can turn back into a pumpkin getting ready to be thrown into the fire.” 

“your analogy is utter shit, but i’ll let it slide this once.” He pulled a hand out of his slack’s pocket, and held it out to the lawyer. “so, truce?” 

She wrinkled her nose, and held out a delicate hand and placed it in his palm. Her pulse thumped against his bones like a tiny fluttering bird. It was so small he could shatter it without a thought, and leave her to bleed to death on the dirty floor. 

He pushed the thought aside as she shook his hand. “Truce.”

“good.” He stuck his hand in his pocket. “you’re gonna be ready by nine o’clock sharp, and i’ll send ya a dress. don’t be late or i’m callin’ this whole shindig off.”    


She nodded and wiped her hand off on a handkerchief. “That is acceptable. Bring me a dozen red roses with black tips. No plain ones. Don’t bother showing up without them.”

“bitch.” 

She scoffed. “It’s not me being a bitch to demand a gift. It’s you being a gentleman. Get used to it. I have very high standards.” 

“sound like boss.” 

“Excuse me?” 

He blinked, before shaking his head and waving her off. “don’t worry ‘bout it, sugar tits. i’ll see ya later this week.” 

She nodded and stuffed her handkerchief in her purse. “Goodbye, Sans.”

“bye, bitch.”

* * *

The week was hectic, but you managed to survive it, somehow. You got the paperwork signed that Marino wanted done, you managed to get a few press speeches completed, and you finally spoke to Amelia yesterday afternoon. You now had a few hours to yourself before Sans was supposed to pick you up for this little party hi family was putting on.

**_Knock!_ **

**_Knock!_ **

**_Knock!_ **

A dozen red roses with black tips on their delicate petals was strapped on top of a long white box. You untied the white ribbon and plucked them up. Their gold wrapping crinkled as you looked them over. Inbetween the petals and leaves you found a white card among the red and black. 

“Here ya go lady.” The man pushed the gift into your hands. “Have a good one!” 

You shut the door with your hip, and examined the card that you had found. “Sugar for the sugar tits.” 

Your eyes narrowed, and you tossed the roses in the waste bin, and stared down at the long white box. Part of you wanted to toss it away and go back to reading your novel, but the other part was curious. What sort of dress would Sans Graves possibly get his worst enemy? 

You laid the box out on the bed, and carefully opened it up. Your eyes widened when you caught sight of a beautiful silk dress in your favorite color, with beautiful crystal beads draped all over it. It was the most surprising and yet the most beautiful gift you ever recieved. 

“At least he has good taste…”

You glanced over to the black one you had taken out in case his was horrendous, and suddenly yours looked inadequate and cheap. 

The annoying thoughts were shaken out of your head, and you quickly got to work making yourself look like a dream. That stupid skeleton might have decent taste, but you would make the dress look like trash. A bit of makeup, some powder, a liberal supply of perfume, and a set of pearls you only used for special occasions.  Your looks were better than pieces of silk anyway, and could outshine anything you put on your body. 

Once you were finished you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your hair was perfectly done, make up unsmudged, and your smile didn’t look awkward and tired. 

_ You’re trying too hard. _

_ Looks can be deceiving.  _ _   
_

_ You’re a real slut. _

No! You couldn’t think like that now. Not when the person you hated the most would be on your doorstep in the next ten minutes. You had to act natural and confident. Like the lawyer that has put away three gangs so far.

Like the first female lawyer in this rotten city!

Like the hero everyone claimed you were....

**_Knock_ **

**_Knock_ **

**_Knock_ **

You swallowed the boiling and writhing emotions in your chest, and put on a stern look that had made several hitmen cry before you marched to your front door. There stood the short skeleton in his fancy suit, and a hat dipped low on his skull. A red eye light stared at you from the darkness of his hat and looked you up and down. It appeared to glow like an ember for a moment, before it died back down to that soft burn. 

He smirked and stuck his hands in his slacks.  “huh. ya look good.”

“I hardly have time for your sarcastic quips, Sans.” You crossed your arms. "Besides, sarcasm is unbecoming." 

“was being serious, sugar tits.” He shrugged. “i know when i see a good looking lady.”

You could feel your cheeks warm the slightest bit, and you looked away sharply in a bid to hide any embarrassment. “Yes, well thank you then. You look… acceptable.” 

“damn. should have bathed in the mud.” 

You rolled your eyes and stepped out onto the porch. You could feel the burn of magic slip past you and quietly shut the door. For a moment the silence of the neighborhood reigned, and you were almost worried that Sans could hear your heart beating against your ribs. “We should get going. It’s terribly rude to be late to any function.” 

Sans shrugged once more and held an arm out to you. “whatever you say, sugar tits.”

* * *

 

The charity ball was being held on the top floor of a French eatery that all the high class folks happened to dine at. It was well known for parties, and the owner was a man that loved to indulge in all the finery. The windows were all clean so you could see the mountain that rose over all the buildings in Ebbot, the chandeliers always shined brightly, and the crystal vases on the round tables were always filled with a seasonal flower. This time they were winter roses that were as red as blood. 

There were party goers everywhere in the large room, and the tables were pushed aside to allow room for dancing. A jazz band was playing a song that you didn’t recognize, and alcohol was so thick in the air you could feel yourself getting tipsy just from the smell alone. 

Your ears perk up when you hear Sans sigh. “alright. let’s pretend to give a fuck.”

“I thought your gang cared about the sick and destitute.” 

“we do.” His eye light shifted from you, and to the chief of police who was casually chatting it up with the youngest daughter of a fish packing company. “we don’t care for rich people pretending to give a damn.” 

“They are… the worst.” 

Sans raised a brow bone, but didn’t say anything as a well to do business man wandered over. “Hello, ma’am. Mr. Graves. I understand that alcohol was not allowed, but we thought it would be fine. Just this once, you see.” 

“ya paid mills, did you?” 

The man blushed such a dark red it almost matched his thinning hair. “Well, yes. We did.”

“don’t we all.” Sans shook hands with the man, and you were hardly surprised to see a thick wad of cash pass from the businessman and to the slick mobster. “have a good one, jim.” 

“Y-you too, Mr. Graves.” 

Sans stuffed the money in his slacks, and went over to one of the food tables. It was filled to the brim with all sorts of sweets, and so much alcohol you swore you were going to be nauseous. “Who was that?” 

“some low life.” 

“Isn’t that your title.” 

“ha ha.” He rolled his eye light. “he’s got half the cops in his pocket. he doesn’t want the hospital up at all, and wanted the land to make a new fishing club that would double as a speakeasy.”

“Like we need another one.” 

“exactly.” He leaned against the table and looked up at you. “so. you actually give a damn about the small guy, huh?” 

Your nose wrinkled. “Why do you think I became a lawyer? I wanted to be able to help people in the way I knew how. I thought cleaning up gangs off the street could protect us since the cops didn’t wouldn’t.”

“and all this time it was just to get in the history books.” 

“History books can tell their pretty lies in the future. I would rather have a safe present, thank you very much!”

Sans hummed, and he plucked up a bit of chocolate cake. “my brothers and i became mobsters to protect other monsters. cops didn’t give a fuck, but we sure as hell did.”

Was that it? You’d read somewhere that Gaster had been a rather accomplished Monster, and his scientific discoveries had helped drive humanity forward by two decades at least. No one was sure why he left the theater of science, though a few speculated it had to do with the failing health of his partner, and had turned to a life of business and crime. 

The youngest brother was supposed to be a detective, but he stopped that gig only a year and a half in. No one knew why such a smart Monster had quit that job either, and had become the ‘clean up crew’ for the horrid gang. 

And Sans…

Well, no one had known anything about Sans. He was in the spotlight one day when his brothers had established a small soup kitchen in the pit of the decaying city. He had tossed out plenty of people that were trying to pick fights, or were trying to prey upon the children that were often their for their meals. 

The excited and curious thoughts were halted when you heard Sans’s deep voice hum some slow waltz to himself. His voice was relaxing, and if life had turned out a bit differently, you wondered if he would have been a singer for some radio show. 

He paused when he noticed your staring and raised a brow bone. “what’s got your attention?” 

“Nothing…” You sighed and crossed your arms. “Honestly, I hate these sort of events. I would much rather do anything else, and simply send my secretary to bring the money for me.” 

“agreed.” He gestured to himself with a ringed hand. “hell, rather go help keep hooligans outta the construction site.” 

“So you’re hands on then?” 

“best hands you ever felt in your life, sugar tits.” 

You smirked, and set your hand in his own boney one. It was hard and cold, and yet there was a thrumming under the bone that gently reminded you that Sans was far more than a corpse. “Perhaps…”

“get the best work out of them under the stars,” he said. “see results faster than light.” 

You could feel your face grow warm again with such a comment, but you didn’t look away this time. Instead, you curled your fingers around his hand, and laced them as best as you could. “I think I would love that.” 

He smirked and rubbed the delicate flesh of the front of your hand with his sharp thumb. “you’re one crazy bitch.” 

“And you’re one sleazy bastard.” 

“wanna dance with this sleazy bastard?” 

You gave a soft smile, and for the first time tonight you felt like this wasn’t just to make the headlines look good, or to appear proper and like a good person. 

You squeezed his hand gently, and you could feel the soft flutter of your soul deep within the confines of your heart.  “Gladly.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Got this Ko-Fi campaign done! I feel like it could be an ongoing series one day. Who knows. 
> 
> Know what does know? My Twitter! https://twitter.com/NilPastry


End file.
